One perfect example to illustrate how arbitrary child-rearing beliefs can be is the tale of Oran and his socks.

Oran was born in May, so the first months of his life were fairly warm and sunny. Some days, his little toes would be wriggling in the breeze, much to my mother’s disappointment when she arrived and found a sockless 2-month old Oran. She would inevitably feel his feet when I wasn’t looking, disappear into his nursery and emerge with socks. You know the kind, so miniscule that if you blinked you probably would lose one behind the couch (and we did most days!). Some had tiny little trains or footballs printed all over.

She’d somehow wrestle the teeny socks on, pulling them up like the knee-socks of a Catholic school girl. So, being the greenest mom on the block (not green as in environmentally friendly, green as in ROOKIE), I figured she was right and his little toes needed covering. Grandma must know something, she’s been around a lot longer than me.

That is, until Grandma #2 came along. At this point, I had become the teeny-tiny sock pro. I watched proudly as my mother-in-law cradled her warm-footed grandson. But imagine my surprise when, I left the room for five minutes and returned to find his socks OFF! This blew my mind at first. But as I listened to Grandma, she began airing her belief that his little tootsies must be sweaty hot and needed a good airing out.

So the game continued: socks on, socks off. And my game – the biting my tongue game—began.

As the months went by, I watched and learned.